A day of rain ...........

OOh dear! Can't do the Train garden, cos it's absolutely pouring with rain. It might have waited until we had cleared all the garden!!
Spent a lazy day stitching and sorting out my next project - will have to start a stitching blog but what to call it - that is the question .............................

To continue here:-

As mentioned in a previous posting, Dad was very proud of the Park and took good care of it.  A tractor used to come once a fortnight and mow the grass but the rough land at the bottom of the park was left to grow wild.  Dad used a large petrol driven mower with a large blade at ground level in front of it to mow this land and he could often be seen struggling up and down the lumps of the ground and by the sides of the pathways pushing this very loud and dirty mower.  Sometimes the mower would stop and Dad would have to sort it out, clearing the grass and weeds caught in the blades or go fetch some more petrol to fill it up.  One day as he was clearing the weeds, whether it was in gear or not I do not know – I have the story only second hand as there was no one there but Dad at the time - but the blades started moving and mowed his middle finger on his left hand clear off at the first joint.  I will tell you how it happened but first I need to say that I was unaware of all this drama – I can remember Dad having stitches in his finger but anything else I am oblivious to.  As far as I am concerned Dad always had a gammy finger on his left hand.

Back to the story – Dad managed to switch the machine off, pick up his finger and get back to his hut.  He wrapped the end of his finger in a clean handkerchief, he applied a first aid dressing to what was left of his finger, put on his coat, locked his hut and went out of the

Station Road

gate.  He used one of the shop’s phone to tell Mr McDuggan what had happened so that the Park could be closed and then caught the bus to the Accident Hospital.

The hospital stitched his finger back on and sent him home; I can vaguely remember him wearing a sling for a short time, but then life went back to normal. 

Years later, Dad told me all this and said that after a few weeks, when he went back to the hospital, they told him that the finger was not setting right and re broke it so that left the tip sitting at right angles to the rest of his finger.  (He jokingly used to say that he didn’t mind as it was perfect for picking his nose and Mam would say “Oh! Harry!!”)